


Petrichor

by stil_lindi



Series: Pulse AU [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: American Sign Language, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, References to Depression, matt fraction Clint Barton is the only valid Clint Barton, or at least, self destructive tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 03:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21313129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stil_lindi/pseuds/stil_lindi
Summary: Disclaimer: This fic is for self indulgent purposes and further contextualises the Pulse AU I’ve made for myself. In the Pulse AU, Clint Barton does not have a family and instead loses Kate Bishop in the Snap. In response, he enters a depressive spiral and isolates himself from the Avengers. Natasha tracks him down to an obscure alleyway. He’s not in good shape.Summary:Natasha Romanoff convinces Clint Barton to come home.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Series: Pulse AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536472
Comments: 3
Kudos: 81





	Petrichor

**Author's Note:**

> Clint is deaf in this fic, and has lost his hearing aid. He can still read lips pretty well which is why Natasha sometimes speaks or mouths words instead of signing.
> 
> All art shown is my own.

—

  
‘You grew out your hair.’

His throat seems to burn as the words leave his tongue - even without hearing it for himself, he knows that his voice must sound like hell.

To her credit, Nat’s expression doesn’t change. She runs her hand through her locks and his eyes follow the movement, stilling at the sight of the blonde tips.

Huh. That was a long time ago.

‘Don’t have much time for a trip to the hairdresser these days,’ she signs back and lightning fast, too quick for him to look away and feign confusion, she continues. ‘What happened to your hearing aid?’

‘Lost it,’ he responds shortly, his hands moving in a blur as if the speed of his response could erase the hot shame creeping up his neck. She doesn’t buy it because she’s not an idiot, but they’re both tired and she lets it go.

They must look like a strange pair, the two of them walking down the street together. Nat, sleek and fiery and clean and then there’s him. Looking like every after school special’s idea of a drug dealer but with less entrepreneurial spirit.

He can’t say that there’s an awkward silence, because there always is these days but Nat doesn’t look at him as they walk. His hair is wet, and longer than it’s ever been so he can sneak glances at her through the muddy strands and he does. He knows that he’s different now. They both are. And he was wrong earlier when he called her sleek and fiery and clean because his eyes begin to catch little things that tell him something different, slow, and then quickly as if his brain is only now registering who he’s walking next to.

The slouch of her shoulder, the bags under her eyes. She seems to step heavier now, almost stomping and oh. Right. She’s angry. No, he’s wrong again. She’s tired. Disappointed. Nervous? God no, Natasha’s never been nervous in her life. But then again, they haven’t seen each other in years. A lot can change. Even Natasha Romanoff.

Clint thinks of the alleyway again. He thinks of how for a moment, for that one second where he knew he was dreaming because Nat was there (and with so much more hair than she’d ever tolerated before), he’d thought he’d seen relief in her eyes.

Kate would’ve said he was delusional. But like. In an endearing way. And if he’s honest, he would’ve agreed with her.

Clint Barton slows to a halt in the middle of the path. What is he doing? What is he thinking? He stares at his own hands like they’re foreign objects and fights down a sudden wave of nausea. He hasn’t held a bow in months. All the callouses on his fingers know now is the feeling of smashed glass and and broken bones, bar fights and alcohol and shoving a pushy guy on the train away from a girl with black hair and a headband just because she smiled at him when she got on.

His jaw works around the thought of words, and he clenches his hands into fists at his sides.

A tap on his shoulder makes his eyes flick up just a bit too fast. Natasha‘s noticed he’s stopped walking. And she’s wearing that expression, that half cock of her eyebrows, the one that means she’s more concerned than irritated but she’ll only let the latter part show, the one that is so familiar and unique to her and god.

He missed her so much.

‘What’s wrong?’ She signs to him as she balances her umbrella in the crook of her shoulder, and he’d forgotten that, he’d forgotten all those little things she’d do, he’d drowned them at the bottom of a shitty bottle of whisky like they were nothing.

I‘m sorry, he wants to say. I threw away my communicator and I regretted it immediately. I shouldn’t have forgotten you. And you shouldn’t have remembered me. You wasted time and energy and a jet engine’s worth of fuel to get here and I don’t even know how to speak anymore. I don’t know how to be who I was anymore. I don’t know how to be worth it anymore.

Natasha waits, unmoving, and Clint breathes.

Her eyes are green. She has a mole under her left eye.

She used to keep her hair short.

‘I sold it,’ he signs and Natasha blinks.

‘What?’

‘The hearing aid. I sold it to get more money for booze,’ he clarifies. She stares at him for a moment, and in that second, he almost expects her to punch him. She’d be justified, if she wanted to. Damn, he’d let her do it. But all she does is nod, a quick efficient movement, and her lips move in the shape of an okay.

Is that it? he thinks and her lips twitch into a smile, just as he realises he said that out loud.

‘Yes’, she mouths, and she gives him an appraising look as she switches back to signing. ‘What were you expecting?’

‘I thought you’d look at me differently,’ he responds. The last word must come out rougher (he can feel the scrape of it in his throat) and her expression softens into something that reminds him of warming up in a cold, isolated bunker with fresh stitches holding his body together, and something other than blood loss clouding his judgement.

‘I do look at you differently,’ she signs back slowly. ‘It’s been five years. I’d be a fool if I didn’t. But it’s not because of the reasons that you’re thinking of.’ Her hands stutter in place, a rare moment of hesitation before she continues. ‘Some things change, and some things don’t. We don’t get to decide what makes the cut. The old me didn’t make it. And I think a part of me only just realised that the old you didn’t either, not completely. And I missed a few dot points along the way so maybe that makes you a stranger. Maybe that makes my information outdated. But if you were different in any way that mattered, if you genuinely weren’t ready to be Hawkeye again...’ And here she smiles at him, really smiles and it makes his heart jump in his chest. ‘...you would still be in that alley.’

And it’s her expression, it’s the sight of her two forefingers placed on her forehead in his name sign, the memory of Kate doing the same thing as she shut his apartment door behind her, it’s everything that makes something crack inside him, and suddenly his stomach is lurching and the back of his eyes are burning with tears. He stumbles back as he wipes them away, grateful that the spattering rain hides it just a little, but Nat moves with him, abandoning the umbrella on the pavement as she steps forward and leans her forehead against his.

The tenderness of it forces out a small, almost frantic laugh.

‘I haven’t shot an arrow in months,’ he croaks out.

‘You’re a fast learner,’ Nat mouths back, and from the way that she’s looking at him, he almost believes her.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and concrit are welcome!
> 
> Instagram: stil_lindigo


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